The Portal Bride
by FuchsiaMae
Summary: An AU inspired by The Princess Bride, featuring true love, high adventure, and science. Pairing is Cave/Caroline.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer/Author's Note:** Nothing in this story belongs to me. The characters are the property of Valve Software, and the storyline belongs to William Goldman, author of _The Princess Bride_. I feel I need to clarify—the way I wrote this fic was to crack open my own copy of _The Princess Bride_ and follow it section-for-section, changing characters and scenarios where needed, but sticking pretty closely to the original format of the story. In places I have the gall to borrow Goldman's wording of a passage, or even the occasional chunk of unaltered text. _This is not an original work._ This is mashing two pre-existing works together for the sole purpose of having fun. I'm having a grand old time with it so far. I hope you do too.

* * *

Beneath the surface, an old salt mine had been converted into the greatest research facility ever to exist. It spread out for miles deep into the ground, like a huge, hollow iceberg, or maybe a giant subterranean beehive, honeycombed with offices and laboratories. Inside, bustling employees worked tirelessly—lab technicians running tests, accountants running numbers, gofers running errands—all in the pursuit of science. Like a hive, the place hummed with energy.

One man's vision brought it all together—and what a man he was. When he started building the facility, the papers called him a Science Maverick. Businessman, innovator, visionary genius. A legend in his own time. That was Cave Johnson.

He was the kind of man who could do the impossible, simply because he refused to believe anyone who told him it was impossible. His gleaming smile could dazzle the darkest eye, and his silver tongue could sell anything to anybody. He could've been the world's greatest used car salesman—but he had higher goals than that. Starting with a one-man business selling shower curtains door-to-door, he built the company up himself, and in less than ten years Aperture Science Innovators was the biggest and best applied sciences company the world had ever seen. (Well, second-best, behind their biggest competitor, Black Mesa, but they'd beat the bastards someday.)

It felt to Cave Johnson like his own private kingdom. He loved to walk the vast halls of the facility, surveying his domain and scaring any employees he caught slacking off, with his attentive secretary trotting at his heels. He _loved_ to torment his secretary. He could tell her to do absolutely anything, no matter how tedious or arbitrary, and she'd do it without question. It became a sort of game he played—what stupid, pointless, arduous task would finally make her snap?

But she never snapped. Not one word of complaint passed her lips. She had to be the most obedient kid he'd ever met. Actually she was more a young woman now, but she'd been a kid of eighteen or so when he first hired her, and that was what he called her.

"Kiddo!"

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson?"

"Kiddo, I want this week's lab reports on my desk on the double. And get me a cuppa coffee."

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson."

That was all she ever answered. "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." File that, kiddo. "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." Type this, kiddo. "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." She was the first one in the building and the last one out every day, apart from himself. She didn't have any family, or any friends either as far as he could tell. She lived only for her job.

He sometimes considered giving her a raise, but never for very long. Not after the way she'd reacted to her first and only vacation. (She'd reappeared at work after only a day away, looking sick as a dog and utterly miserable, but perked up immediately when he told her to shine his shoes.) He figured she was stupid, or maybe crazy, or probably both—but whatever she was, it made her damn useful. He took little notice of her beyond that. She did her mundane secretary things, and he did science.

And Cave Johnson was damn good at science. Aperture had become the cutting edge of innovation, the envy of every business mogul in the country, and Cave Johnson made it happen. Every scientist wanted to work for him. Every schoolkid wanted to see inside the facility walls. Every day, news of some new invention or discovery would come up from the labs—and as soon as it happened, Cave would find a way to market it. He was the man who brought science to the people.

He said as much in the latest of his many press conferences. "I'm the man who brings science to you." And he flashed a dazzling grin to the flashbulbs in the crowd. Cave Johnson was nothing if not charismatic—he loved the limelight, and it loved him. Standing on a raised stage, surrounded by people hanging on his every word, he was in his element. His secretary stood in the wings just out of view, taking notes for him and watching as he played the audience.

"Aperture's got both feet in the future, folks. You think our latest line of bulletproof shower curtains is something? You should see what we got cooking in the labs right this minute! We got stuff that would knock Newton's socks off!" He laughed his confident laugh. "You want flying cars in twenty years? They're gonna be Aperture-brand!"

The crowd tittered, and Cave's grin widened. "Ladies and gentlemen, we at Aperture Science Innovators are one hundred percent committed to bringing Progress to You. When this stuff goes on the market, and it's gonna go on the market real soon, Aperture's gonna change the world!" The crowd recognized the cue for applause, and cheered appropriately. Flashbulbs flashed, and Cave Johnson glowed with pride.

Somewhere in the sea of photographers and journalists, an unremarkable woman scribbled on a pad. It was this woman who mentioned him to the Administrator.

.

Mann Co. was the biggest name in weapons manufacturing. It was founded in the early 19th century, by legendary businessman Zepheniah Mann. Zepheniah had two sons, Redmond and Blutarch, but it was widely agreed that they were both blockheaded idiots who couldn't manage a lemonade stand without causing nuclear war—so upon Zepheniah's death, Mann Co. went to his aide, a hardy frontiersman named Barnabas Hale. Barnabas had a son, too, by the name of Bilious, and Bilious in turn had a son named Saxton. At the time of our story, Saxton Hale was the man behind Mann Co.

But behind every great man is a great woman, they say, and behind Saxton Hale was the Administrator. Her name was Helen, but no one needed to use it—when you mentioned the Administrator, people knew who you were talking about. She was the head of some shady company called TF Industries. No one knew exactly what they did, but everyone knew enough not to ask. Mann Co. was one of the organizations more overtly under its sway, but TFi's sphere of influence was wide, and no one but the Administrator knew how far it really went. Only one other person even glimpsed the full scope of operations. That person was the Administrator's assistant, Ms. Pauling.

Ms. Pauling was small in stature, and unassuming in appearance. She was pretty in a forgettable way—it could be said she had a kind face. People seldom noticed or remembered her, unless she looked them in the eyes. Her eyes, behind horn-rimmed glasses, were sharp as flint.

She also carried a semi-automatic pistol in her purse with which she could shoot a man between the eyes at a hundred yards. But that fact doesn't come into this story.

It was an ordinary day at Aperture when Ms. Pauling came to call. She breezed past the receptionist with barely a glance—"Pauling and Bidwell, for TF Industries and Mann Co."—and her companion, Mr. Bidwell, trailed in behind her. (Mr. Bidwell was one of Saxton Hale's aides, which explained his nervous, milquetoast sort of demeanor. You'd be nervous too if your boss wrestled crocodiles for fun.) With Bidwell following, she marched down the main hallway, down the wide flight of stairs, through the lobby, and up to the great glass elevator that led to the executive level. No one took so much as a glance at them.

Up the elevator, down another hallway, and finally the pair stood outside the door marked "Cave Johnson, CEO." Ms. Pauling pushed the door and strode inside.

The secretary looked up from her typing. This was not, in fact, Cave Johnson's office. It was the outer office, reserved for his assistant—his was the inner office, through the door beside her desk. She greeted the visitors with a standard smile. "Can I help you?"

"We're here to see Mr. Johnson."

"Do you have an app—"

"Yes, we're with TF Industries and Mann Co. The names are Pauling and Bidwell." Ms. Pauling, as an assistant herself, knew all the formalities and wasn't in the mood for them.

The secretary checked her list. Yes, they did have an appointment, and they were right on time. She buzzed Mr. Johnson's office. "Mr. Johnson? Ms. Pauling and Mr. Bidwell are here to see you."

"Send 'em in, kiddo."

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." She started to rise from her chair, a "Right this way" ready on her lips, but Ms. Pauling brushed past with a curt "Thank you" and the words died. Her expression was unreadable as she watched the other woman disappear into her boss's office.

Mr. Bidwell followed a little more slowly. His eyes lingered on the secretary.

.

Cave was leaning back in his office chair, in a pose carefully practiced to look both dominant and relaxed. He smiled as they entered. "Hi there. How can I help you folks?"

Ms. Pauling's gaze flicked first to the grand portrait on the wall behind the desk—an ostentatious thing, complete with a little gold nameplate at the bottom—then to the man himself who sat beneath it. Both wore identical grins that looked too charming for anyone's good. Pauling didn't fall for it. "I'm here about your files, Mr. Johnson."

Cave maintained his smile, but his brow wrinkled a little. "Files?"

"Yes sir. It's a well-known fact that Aperture's filing system is the best in the country. We want to know how you do it."

It took talent to be proud and confused at the same time, but Cave Johnson could be proud and anything at the same time. His chest puffed out at the compliment. "Well, uh. 'Course we take pride in out filing system. We take pride in everything here at Aperture."

"I'm sure you do." The woman's smile was a trifle thin. "That's why TF Industries wants to learn from you, Mr. Johnson. What's your secret?"

"My secret? Good teeth and a little Brylcreem, little lady," Cave said with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair—but the joke fell flat. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, to tell you the truth, that's not my department. See, as the CEO of this place, I'm a big picture guy. I'm busy with important science stuff, so I can't waste my time with—"

"I'm sure you're very important, Mr. Johnson," Pauling interrupted, "but we're really here about your filing system."

"Tell you what—I'll take you down to the testing spheres and show you science in action! You've never seen anything like it—"

"Please, Mr. Johnson. The filing system."

Cave wasn't used to being interrupted. It threw him off balance. "Well. Uh. My secretary takes care of filing and stuff. Sure you don't wanna see the testing spheres?"

"Mr. Johnson—"

Then Mr. Bidwell spoke up for the first time. "Let's talk to the secretary, then." The other two glanced at him, and he continued, "That was her out there, wasn't it? Ask her to show us where the files are kept."

Johnson didn't notice the way Pauling's eyes sparked. He buzzed her desk. "Kiddo, c'mere a sec."

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." And the secretary peeped in at the door. She wilted a little as all three faces turned to her.

Bidwell, in a sudden show of boldness, stepped up to her. "Miss…?" he trailed off, expecting an introduction.

"Caroline."

"Your boss tells us you're in charge of the file system here at Aperture. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Would you show it to us, please?"

Her eyes widened warily and flicked over to her boss. "I don't know if that's—"

"Show 'em the file room, kiddo."

Further words stuck in her throat. She swallowed them. "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson."

And so the four of them set off down the hall, with Caroline in the lead. Bidwell followed her closely, and Cave followed Bidwell. Pauling kept to the rear. Her watchful gaze darted everywhere.

When they reached their destination, Caroline lifted the key from a chain around her neck and unlocked the door. Inside, the file room was still and quiet. Pauling's eyes took in rows upon rows of neatly labeled files. Bidwell's eyes stayed on Caroline.

"Here's where we keep all our most important records and things," Cave started—

But Bidwell cut him off. "Why don't we let Miss Caroline show us around?"

The secretary flushed red. She seemed nervous letting visitors into her domain, but she did as she was asked. Going over to one shelf, she eased a file partway out and explained hesitantly, "This section is for lab reports. Here I group everything by laboratory, and then by date. For instance, this one is from Robotics, and it's dated May 16, 1952…"

She continued, but no one was listening. Pauling's attention danced from the files to the CEO and back, taking in the man himself even as she skimmed the labels. Johnson's smile was gone, replaced by something stormier than confusion. He was watching Bidwell.

Who was watching Caroline.

.

The two visitors were careful not to overstay their welcome, and with them gone, business could continue as usual. Except that it didn't. Cave felt distracted and ornery, and he couldn't for the life of him put his finger on why. Whatever it was, it kept him from concentrating on anything for more than a few seconds—longer than that and he'd find himself suddenly thinking about that sheep-faced lackey and wanting to punch something.

He managed to get through the day, only snapping at a few more employees than usual, but something kept him in the office even after the drones had gone home. Only his secretary remained, and she was on her way out too. "Can I do anything else, Mr. Johnson?" she asked one last time.

He started to say no, but something held the words back. He was tired and cranky, it had been a very long day, and no she damn well wasn't getting off the hook that easily. He turned on her.

"Yeah, you can do something. You can stop _flirting_ with _goddamn strangers_ every time they come into this office!" The ire in his voice took her by surprise. "You're here to do science, not to pick up men!" Her eyes widened with shock and hurt, and she shrank back, openmouthed. He pushed on anyway. "If you work for me, you represent my company, got that? You are _not allowed _to make goo-goo eyes at every guy who comes in here! You want me to look like I'm running a damn cathouse?" She shook her head mutely. "You're a secretary, not a streetwalker. Right?" She nodded. "_Right?_"

"Y-yes sir, Mr. Johnson."

"You do it again, you're fired!"

The girl looked about to cry. "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson."

"Good," he finished gruffly. "Now get outta here."

She swallowed her tears and gathered her things without another word. The door shut with a thump behind her.

Cave sighed. Now on top of the moodiness, something in his belly ached. Maybe he was getting sick. He trudged back to his office and sat heavily behind his desk, massaging his scalp with his fingers. Even brilliant men of science had bad days. He slouched over and let his head sink into his hands.

And Bidwell was staring at Caroline.

His head jerked up. He let out a groan, rubbed a hand across his face, and sighed again. He needed to unwind. He ran his fingers through his hair and loosened his tie. It had been a long day, and he deserved a break. His jacket shrugged off his shoulders, and he stretched broadly in his chair, letting his elbows rest on the desk as he dropped his head in his hands.

Bidwell was still staring at Caroline.

Hell, he _really_ needed to unwind. He hauled himself up from behind the desk, went to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and gulped it down. The empty glass came down a little too hard on the cabinet as he finished. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand—the feverish feeling was still there.

How feverish? He felt fine. He was in the prime of life and healthy as a horse. He put the bourbon away, plunked back into his chair, leaned back, and put his feet up on the desk. He closed his eyes.

Bidwell would not stop staring at Caroline!

_Why?_ Why in the world would Hale's mindless peon be interested in Caroline? Cave growled and shifted in his seat. There simply was no other way of explaining that look—he _was_ interested. Cave squeezed his eyes shut and studied the memory of Bidwell. Clearly, something about his secretary interested him. Facts were facts. But _what?_ The kid had soft brown eyes like a doe's, but who cared about eyes? Her dark hair was thick and long and lustrous, if you liked that sort of thing. And she sure had curves under that modest dress, but so did a lot of girls. Yeah, she had an hourglass figure and long, shapely legs. So what? Of course her mouth was pink and perfect, and her cheeks blushed like roses; he wouldn't keep her around if she weren't easy on the eyes. But lots of girls were easy on the eyes—he kept her especially because she was good at her damn job.

Cave sat up. That was it. It had to be. Caroline was the best filer and note-taker he had, and Bidwell wanted to poach her for Mann Co.

Could it have been anything else? He thought hard. His own peons followed his secretary around a lot, when she was running errands for him, but they were idiots, they followed anything. And she always ignored them, because if she'd ever opened her mouth, they would have realized that was all she was good for, filing and note-taking; she was, after all, just a stupid kid.

It was really very strange that Bidwell should be so interested in some secretary, even if she was quite a good one. Cave shrugged. Peon psychology wasn't his problem. The kid wouldn't quit in a million years, anyway, so any Mann Co. plan to steal her was worthless. Nothing to worry about. He stretched, and yawned, and scratched himself, and let his tired body sink into the chair, and _people don't look at other people the way Bidwell looked at his secretary because they can take dictation_.

"Aw, hell," Cave growled.

Now_ his secretary _was staring back at _Bidwell_. She was walking down the hallway with her hips swaying and Cave was standing there watching as she turned and looked, for the first time, deep into Bidwell's eyes.

Cave jumped up again and began to pace the room. How could she? Oh, it was alright if she looked at him, but she wasn't looking at him, she was _looking at him_.

"He's a damn patsy," the CEO muttered, fuming like a furnace. Men like Bidwell existed for one reason—to work for people with brains enough to run things. He couldn't manage half the stuff Cave Johnson did in a day if he tried. Tagging along after that skirt with the glasses, he looked like a bewildered sheep.

Bidwell was a patsy, and that was that. No use dwelling on it. He poured himself another drink. The man was nebbish and incompetent, and—hell, he wasn't even cut out to gofer coffee. And he was too short for her anyway. Scrawny bastard. With his stupid bland face and his stupid reedy voice and his eyes that wouldn't stop _looking_ at her…

Cave started pouring the third drink as soon as he finished the second one. It took all his self-control not to smash something. His heart was pounding and his face flushed red and his palms were sweaty and his hands shook and in a lesser man, this feeling might have been called _jealousy_—but Cave Johnson did not get jealous. Cave Johnson had never been jealous of anyone in his life. Especially not of some worthless, brainless, spineless flunky who had the _gall_ to look at _his_ secretary.

It was a very long and very green night.

He was outside her tiny duplex apartment before dawn. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again, harder. Still no answer. He pounded on the door with his fist for a good five minutes, and then noticed the doorbell. That was worth a try. He mashed his thumb into the button and didn't let up for a good five minutes more—until finally the door opened.

She appeared in the doorway, wearing a robe thrown over her nightgown, long hair tousled, dark eyes bleary with sleep. She blinked. He looked at her. Then he looked away.

She was too beautiful.

The fact of the matter was that he loved her. He loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone before. He had been romantic with many women, yes, but never loved them, and now he was feeling things he didn't even know it was possible to feel. He didn't even have a word for them, "love" not being in his practical vocabulary—which made his next speech a little bit difficult.

"Hey." He cleared his throat. "Hey, kiddo."

He could have said she was lovelier, more graceful, more totally spellbinding than any woman he'd ever seen. He could have said he adored her. He could have knelt at her feet and offered her the world. He could at least have apologized for years of harsh treatment, and maybe said thank you.

He said "Kiddo" again, and coughed.

For the very first time, Cave Johnson's silver tongue had turned to lead.

"Look. Kiddo. There's, uh—there's something I wanted to talk to you about. See, when a man and a woman—a good-looking, successful man like myself, say, and a—and a girl like you—well, sometimes things happen with men and women, y'know? 'Specially when they work together. Like we do. Right? And when two people work together—well I don't mean _work_ work, like in an office, I mean—actually there are rules against that, hadn't thought of that part—" He cleared his throat again. "Um. Anyway. Don't need to talk about that, that's not what I'm getting at. What I'm saying is, you and I—we have a kinda—working relationship. Y'know? You been my secretary for a few years now, and I've never had a bad thing to say about you. You're the last person I'd ever expect to do something wrong. Not that you did do something wrong, I'm not saying that. I mean, you're the best secretary I ever had—"

He stumbled suddenly. The unplanned compliment took him by surprise. But he took another breath and persevered. "Yeah, you are. You're the best secretary I ever had. And that means something, Caroline. I've never called you that before, have I? Well Caroline—Caroline—'s a pretty name, I dunno why I haven't used it—what I'm saying is, Caroline, that we work real well together. We make a good team." He took a deep breath. "Caroline, you're the backbone of Aperture Science Innovators, and I dunno what I'd do without you. Just wanted to tell you that." And with that, he dared the bravest thing he'd ever done: he looked right into her eyes.

She closed the door in his face.

Without a word.

Without a word.

Cave's shoulders slumped, but he said nothing. His whole body felt made of lead. He wasn't used to defeat, and was even less used to accepting it—but he didn't know what else to do. So without a word, he trudged down her front lawn and got back in his car. Without a single word.

The drive home was a long one, and very lonely. He sat in silence with his eyes fixed on the road.

Not even _one_ word. She hadn't had the decency for that. "Yes sir," she could have said. Would it have killed her to say "Yes sir," like always?

Why couldn't she at least have said something?

Cave thought very hard about that for a moment. And suddenly he had the answer: she didn't talk because the minute she opened her mouth, that was it. Sure she was gorgeous, but dumb as a rock. The minute she had exercised her tongue, it would have all been over.

"Duhhhhhhh."

That's what she would have said. That was the kind of thing Caroline came out with when she was feeling really sharp. "Duhhhhhhh, tanks, Mr. Johnson."

Cave shook himself and smiled. He took a deep breath, heaved a sigh. It was just one of those things. You got these little quick passions, you blinked, and they were gone. He was an impulsive guy. This sort of thing was to be expected. And he hadn't made a fool of himself at all—she knew better than to mention it to anyone, on pain of dismissal, so nobody else ever had to know. Forget about it, champ, and get on with the morning. Cave pulled into the Aperture parking lot, strolled into the building, ran a comb through his hair in the men's room mirror—ladykiller, as usual—and gulped down another bourbon as soon as he got to his office. Because there was a limit to just how much you could lie to yourself.

Caroline wasn't stupid.

Oh, he could pretend she was. He could laugh about her soft-spoken shyness. He could chide himself for his silly infatuation with some kid. The truth was simply this: she had a head on her shoulders, with a brain inside every bit as good as his. There was a reason she hadn't spoken, and it had nothing to do with gray cells working. She hadn't spoken because, really, there was nothing for her to say.

He thought she was perfect, and she didn't care.

It was an awful day. Caroline was the next one in the building, as usual, but she didn't even look at him as she brought his morning coffee. She didn't look at him all day, and her conversation was limited to things like "Phone for you, Mr. Johnson," and "Mr. Jennings is here to see you, Mr. Johnson." He plodded through briefings and conferences in a fog. His heart wasn't in it. He could talk anyone into anything, could win over any woman he'd ever laid eyes on, and it meant nothing. The one time it mattered, he wasn't good enough. He'd never been not good enough before. It made him feel sick.

The hours dragged by so slowly it hurt, but at last the day ended. The sun was sinking outside, and the facility emptied in minutes as Cave's employees went back to their homes. The CEO himself sat slumped behind his desk, firmly ignoring the paperwork in front of him, when he heard footsteps outside his door. He sat up. Another knock. "What?" he barked.

"It's Caroline, sir."

His heart leaped into his throat before he could stop it. _C'mon, Cave, pull yourself together_, he thought frantically, as his pulse pounded in his ears. _She's just a kid_. He swallowed his nerves, straightened his tie, and leaned way back in his chair. _Play it cool_. "Caroline?" he said. "Do I know a Caro—oh, _kiddo!_ C'mon in!" He propped his feet up as she entered, and said in his most casual tone, "Glad you stopped by, kiddo. I was starting to feel kinda bad about this morning, coming by your house and all. Shouldn't have woken you up just for a stupid joke. You knew I was joking, right? All that teamwork crap. You know me, I wouldn't do teamwork if my life depended on it. Cave Johnson doesn't do teams. I work on my own, and I don't need anybody. You know that. Right?"

"Sir…" Her voice was soft, and she still wasn't looking at him. "I'm leaving, sir."

Cave's stomach dropped through the floor. "Leaving?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Now wait a minute. Wait one goddamn minute!" Suddenly irate, he surged out of his chair and towered over her, or would have if she weren't almost his height in heels. "This is about Mann Co., isn't it? Just tell me what they offered you and I'll match it. Double it. Whatever you want. If that asshole Bidwell thinks he can steal you, he's got another thing coming!"

"Sir?"

"I don't care how much he makes eyes at you, that guy is not getting you away from Aperture. You want a company car? A thousand-dollar bonus? You got it! I don't care! _Screw_ Mann Co.!"

"What—"

"And what the hell makes you think you can just walk out, huh? You're my secretary! You can't just quit on me, woman, I need you!"

She just looked at him, frowning a little.

Her soft brown eyes knotted up his tongue again. He finished lamely, "And Bidwell's too short for you, anyway."

"Mr. Johnson, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not just gonna let you leave."

"I'm only going home for the night, sir."

He stumbled over his own tongue. "…Oh. Good."

"I'm not going to run off anywhere, Mr. Johnson." A soft blush painted her cheeks. "I belong here at Aperture. Nothing anyone could offer me would ever make me leave." And that was true—more true than she could say.

The fact of the matter was that she loved him. She had for many years. He had been her childhood hero, when he was a young entrepreneur and she was a girl of twelve. She'd slept for years with his picture under her pillow. She loved science as much as he did, and to work at Aperture was her heart's deepest dream—stumbling on his ad in the classifieds had seemed then, to an eighteen-year-old with no family and no money, like the opportunity of a lifetime. She cried with joy the day he gave her the job.

Every day since she only loved him more. She said nothing, but she felt it every time she heard his voice, and every time he smiled. She loved him by being the best assistant he could ask for: efficient, resourceful, and always obedient. The company really had improved by leaps and bounds since she was hired, and it was because she loved him. And because she couldn't say the words "I love you," she said, "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson," instead. Every time she said, "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson," what she meant was, "I love you."

Now, in her heart of hearts, she suspected he loved her back.

She said softly, "I wanted to ask if there's anything else you need."

"Nah. That's all today, kiddo."

She nodded, and lowered her head. "I'll go home, then."

"Yeah."

She turned away from him, took a step towards the door.

His stomach knotted up.

She took another step. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Yeah." He stammered a little.

She reached for the doorknob. He couldn't quite breathe.

"Actually, there is one thing."

She turned back, and her eyes were the color of coffee and chocolate, and her barely-open mouth was soft and pink as a young rose. "Yes sir?"

He tried not to stammer again. "Caroline…"

"Yes?" She took a little step towards him, looking up with those wide dark eyes, and his tongue felt thick and useless. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. "What is it, Mr. Johnson?"

"Ah. Um. Caroline…"

She was close enough to kiss.

"Would you kiss me?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson."

And she did.

.

Cave Johnson had numerous great moments in his life thus far. The day he bought the old salt mine that became Aperture Science, and the day of the facility's Grand Opening. The first time he made headlines, with his picture in the paper. The day he made his first million dollars. Any one of these events would be enough to make a lifetime extraordinary, and Cave Johnson had many.

That night left them all behind.

.

It began the best time of their lives. Cave Johnson and his assistant were an unstoppable force, and with both of them working 'round the clock, Aperture rocketed to the fore of the scientific world. Profits more than doubled as business rolled in, and the labs turned out more and better results every day. They had the world at their feet. Caroline blossomed—in weeks she seemed to grow from a shy young girl to a confident, assertive woman. She'd been Cave's useful helper before, but now she was his right hand. As for the CEO, he was in better spirits than ever, and no one was about to question why. His booming laugh echoed through the halls wherever he went, and Caroline's light, lilting tones accompanied it. Both of them wore near constant smiles.

Together, they made Aperture a household name. Their stock prices soared, and securing a contract with the US Armed Forces—Caroline's idea—gave them extra income to fund more experiments than they ever dared to dream of. Fame and fortune landed right at their doorstep.

The realization didn't sink in until the lab cloned a live dodo bird, and _Scientific American_ ran a ten-page story on it. Caroline could barely contain her excitement when the journalist arrived. She'd read _Scientific American_ regularly since she was a teenager—seeing their company logo in the headline felt surreal. Cave only grinned and said, "We're on the up and up, kiddo."

The next month they had a breakthrough in cross-phylum hybrids—the lab boys called them "Mantis Men"—and Cave made his first string of appearances on television talk shows. They built a working anti-gravity chamber, and Cave was on the cover of _Forbes_ magazine. They devoted a whole testing sphere to growing live organs in chemical vats, and the President told Cave to call him Ike. That year Aperture made the top five of the Fortune 500, coming in just barely below Black Mesa—but they'd beat the bastards someday. Every employee was certain of it now.

Meanwhile Cave did interview after interview, gaining celebrity status with each one. He flourished in front of cameras and microphones. Caroline organized his notes and cue cards neatly for each appearance, and she always hovered right behind the crew, watching her boss with a proud smile. The public was finally seeing in him what she saw all along.

But the more publicity he got, the less he seemed to care. Not that he didn't enjoy fame and fortune—he certainly did—but they were icing on the cake. For the first time in years, he was truly happy. He was doing science—and he was in love.

Which was why Caroline's death hit him the way it did.

It struck like lightning on a clear day. She was in the robotics lab, overseeing the first test run of a new artificial intelligence project—normally she would've been with Cave in a meeting, but the lab techs insisted that one of them should be present for this important test, and Caroline agreed. So Cave was in the boardroom with an important investor when the accident happened, and didn't hear about it until a frantic aide burst in with the news.

No one could quite settle on a story. All they knew was that the lab had sealed off without warning and stayed that way until an emergency team hacked inside with a fire axe. They found a nightmarish scene inside. The air was filled with toxic gas, the floor was slick with blood, and everyone inside was very dead. The lab equipment was in shreds, as if a wild animal with the strength of a tank had torn apart the room. The experiment itself had vanished.

Some people said they'd heard the screams.

When the aide told him, Cave's face blanched dead white. He dashed out of the meeting and down to the lab, but at the broken-down door the emergency team held him back. He shouldn't go in there, they insisted. The forensics specialists were there now, and they were trying to figure this out. He really shouldn't go in there. It took three men to hold him back.

"_Caroline!_"

"She's dead, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"_CAROLINE!_"

"The bodies will be in the morgue later, sir. You can… you can see her then."

"I'm gonna see her _now_, you goddamn—"

"Please, sir. You really don't want to go in there."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but at that moment a pair of medics walked out carrying a full body bag. Cave watched them pass in choked silence. He stared after them and asked, in a softer tone, "How'd it happen?"

"Sir—"

"Did they gas her? Or cut her open, o-or crush her, or what?" His voice shook.

"Her head was—" one of the younger medics began, but an older one stomped on his foot and he shut up.

"We'll move her to the morgue, and you can—"

"Nah." Cave waved off the words with a hand. His eyes were focused on something far away. "Thanks, though." It didn't matter how she died. In his memory, she was alive and brilliant and beautiful. She would stay that way.

He went to his office and shut the door.

He stayed there for days. No one knew if he slept or ate. His assistant's self-appointed replacement, a harried man named Greg, canceled his meetings and told all callers he was away on an unexpected trip. Occasionally Greg would dare a knock at the door to ask if he wanted food, but the CEO never responded. It was very quiet inside. He never made sound.

In the labs, science went on without him.

When he emerged at last, his eyes were dry. Greg looked up at him, and started to rise from his chair, but Cave stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Any messages?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Back to work."

As he strode down the halls once more, curious eyes dogged his every step. Employees stared openly, sacrificing tact to gauge the mood of their volatile boss. He was a changed man. The bright enthusiasm in his face was gone, replaced by grim severity. His features looked set in stone. Cautiously, one brave accountant approached and told him the news: Black Mesa's facility had suffered a minor accident involving leaked radiation, which led to a few dozen minor cases of radiation poisoning in a nearby town and some serious bad press. In response, their stock value had taken a dip, while Aperture's had risen with the release of their newest shower curtain line. According to the numbers, Aperture was on top at last.

That was good news, wasn't it?

Cave gave the accountant a long, hard stare.

"To hell with it."

Without Caroline, he never did science again.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Saxton Hale was made of muscle. His legs were sturdy tree-trunk legs, his arms were thicker than mighty anacondas, and his chest was so broad he couldn't squeeze it into a shirt—he had long ago given up trying, and now walked around with his map-of-Australia chest hair on full display. He could've made great money as a bodybuilder, flexing in front of a crowd, but bodybuilding was too dull a sport for him. So was being a CEO, in fact. Running Mann Co. was a tedious job—he delegated most of his duties to his aides, except the duties that included weapons testing or shouting at people. He enjoyed weapons and shouting. Everything else he tolerated out of obligation.

Fighting was his love.

He could also have been a champion boxer or wrestler, but Hale didn't fight people (apart from any hippies unfortunate enough to cross his path. That wasn't real fighting, though. That was exterminating). There was no sport in fighting people—they were far too fragile, and there were too many rules. Saxton Hale saw nothing wrong with biting an ear or ripping a scrotum in a scuffle. He liked his fights rough and merciless. He fought animals.

He started as a boy in the wilds of Australia, learning to wrestle Tasmanian devils under the proud eye of his father, Bilious. From there he moved on to small crocodiles, and then larger ones. He boxed kangaroos, strangled deadly snakes, and shattered the jaws of great white sharks. Not one animal on his home continent could withstand his relentless force. So he set off abroad, traveling the world to find and fight its deadliest creatures. He had a grand old time beating up tigers in India and alligators in Mexico, and he enjoyed the US apart from one small incident—he got himself kicked out of Yellowstone for harassing the bears—but out of all the world, Africa became his favorite destination. Gorillas trembled and lions fled in terror at the sight of him. He could have spent twenty years traveling in a Jeep from country to country, beating the tar out of every hippo in Zimbabwe and every rhino in Namibia, breaking the teeth of every croc in the Nile. An eternal African safari was his idea of paradise.

But then Bilious Hale died, and Saxton's duties at Mann Co. called him back home. He quickly discovered that the corporate life was not for him—he spent his days surrounded by toadying white-collar workers who couldn't take down an antelope if they tried, and the most fun he ever had was getting rid of the patchouli-scented vermin who tried to stage sit-ins outside the main building. After a miserable few months resigned to local wildlife, which had long ago lost its appeal, he finally came up with an Idea:

Since he couldn't travel the world for opponents, why not bring the opponents to him?

That was how the Zoo of Death began. He designed it himself, with the help of Mann Co.'s top engineers, and he sent his hirelings across the world to stock it for him. It was kept brimming with deadly beasts for him to fight, and it really wasn't like any other animal sanctuary anywhere. In the first place, there were never any visitors. There was only one key, and Hale kept that himself. His two assistants, Mr. Bidwell and Mr. Reddy, were the only people allowed in without supervision, and they had to ask him for the key each time. They were in charge of feeding the animals, and making sure every creature was fighting fit. Saxton Hale would have no weakness in his private collection.

The other thing about the Zoo was that it was underground. Hale had it constructed beneath the sprawling Mann Co. property, in an artificial cavern built to his exact specifications. It had five levels. On the first level were pack hunters, mostly canines: wolves, hyenas, and wild dogs. They were fierce but small, so he would fight them five at a time. On the second level belonged beasts of size: elephants, rhinos, and hippopotami. Though they had no taste for blood, he enjoyed testing himself against their size and strength. The third level was for reptiles: the crushing anaconda, the fast and deadly cobra, the vicious crocodile, and the brutish Komodo dragon. The fourth level, his favorite, was reserved for large carnivores of the jaws-and-claws variety: the lions, the tigers, the grizzly bears. Bidwell and Reddy used extra caution during feeding time on the fourth level.

The fifth level was empty.

Hale constructed it in the hopes of someday finding something worthy, something as dangerous and fierce and powerful as he was.

Unlikely. Still, he was an eternal optimist, so he kept the great cage of the fifth level always in readiness.

And there was really more than enough that was lethal on the other four levels to keep a man happy. Hale spent many pleasant hours in the Zoo, letting his underlings run the company while he wrestled his rhinos and bears. He had the deadliest animals in the world to amuse him—whenever the mood struck, he could bark a command and have his opponent ready in minutes. It was the perfect diversion for a fighting man.

.

When Mr. Reddy made his intrusion, Hale was finishing a four-hour bout with a gorilla. The beast had tired in a disappointingly short amount of time. He could feel the strength in its arms flagging as he grappled with it, and it kept trying to bite his neck, a sure sign the fight was almost over. He caught the ape in a rib-crushing bear hug, feeling it struggle in his grip—and Reddy cleared his throat as he peered over the edge of the fighting pit.

"Mr. Hale, you've got a phone call from—"

"Hold on, I'm busy."

"But it's—"

"Reddy, I said—agh!" He'd turned his head for a split second to look at the intruder, and the gorilla had sunk its teeth into his shoulder. With a mighty heave he threw the thing off. It landed with a thud on the hard stone ground, and an instant later his fist collided with its face. There was an audible crack, and one of its fangs flew across the pit. "I said I'm busy, dammit!"

Reddy watched, unperturbed, as his boss continued to pummel the animal. The bite wound didn't seem to slow him down a bit. Two more blows bloodied his opponent's face, and then Hale grabbed it by the throat, lifting it high into the air and hurling it onto the ground again. Before it could recover he had it in a headlock from behind. His huge hands grabbed its skull, and twisted.

C

R

A

C

K

The gorilla went limp beneath him. Stepping over the carcass, Hale swiped his kangaroo-leather outback hat from where it had fallen and settled it back on his head. "There." He looked up at his aide, mounting the ladder out of the pit. "Now what's that call about?"

"That was the Administrator, sir. She wants to see you immediately."

"Ha!" he grinned broadly. "I'll bet she does! Helen never could resist my chiseled good looks."

"She said it was a business matter, sir."

"'Course she did!" Hefting himself to level ground, Hale stood and clapped a friendly hand on Reddy's shoulder. The other man stumbled under the blow. "Remember this, mate, 'cause it's important: when a woman tells a man she wants to see him, it means she wants sex. If she says immediately, she wants it rough." He winked. They had a lot of catching up to do.

.

The Administrator sat alone in her office, waiting. She'd done a lot of waiting in the past few years. Her wait was almost over.

Things were ready to be set in motion. Ms. Pauling kept her up to speed on the happenings within TF Industries' subsidiary companies, and for news outside TFi, she had a network of spies and undercover agents reporting in from every major corporation and world power around the globe. Between them, she kept abreast of everything. She had a lot of irons in the fire, a lot of flies to keep track of in her grand scheming web—but when a single one of them was ripe for attention, she knew.

This time the lucky fly was Aperture Science.

In the last few years, the once promising company had slipped to precarious ground. Within weeks of the radiation incident at Black Mesa, Aperture peaked and started to plummet. As if jinxed by its own success, the company's value fell as rapidly as it had climbed, and now its stock prices hung at just above half what they'd been at their height. They continued doing science, but their business dealings were shaky at best, and lately bad press had started to leak out—rumors about unethical testing, hazardous working conditions, even employee deaths. The company was teetering on the edge of collapse. Everyone knew it.

And over the years, through the eyes of a dozen undercover operatives, the Administrator watched. She watched, and she waited.

Now it was time to act.

If only that Australian buffoon would get here…

Just as she was growing impatient, Pauling buzzed the intercom on her desk. Finally. "_Mr. Hale is h_—"

"_Helen! Hi!_" The man's booming voice cut off her assistant's. "_Glad you called me over, you gorgeous thing. Heard you got, uh,_ urgent business_ or something?_"

The way he said _urgent business_ communicated exactly what he was thinking. She rolled her eyes. "Send him in."

"_Yes ma'am_."

And a moment later Saxton Hale barged through her door, all bravado and bare pectorals. His face broke into a grin as he set eyes on her. "There you are, you coy little vixen. It's been too damn long."

The Administrator had never been a vixen, even in her younger days, which were now long gone. She was a bone-thin harpy of a woman, harsh and merciless, with a face that never learned how to smile—in every way the opposite of the jovial colossus in the doorway. He was crazy about her, of course. Opposites attract.

She tapped her cigarette impatiently, knocking off a few flakes of ash, and took a long drag. "Sit down, Mr. Hale."

"Aw, y'know you don't have to call me that." He pulled up a chair and sat, massive physique dwarfing the furniture. "It's Saxton for you, sweetheart."

"Yes. Saxton." She made a face like she was sucking a lemon.

He only grinned wider. "So what've you been up to since our last ron-day-voo? Still like steak dinners and sex with handsome men?"

"Saxton, this is important."

"Oh I know it is—"

"Let me finish, please." She shot him a look and he shut up. "Do you know the current situation on Aperture Science Innovators?"

His bushy eyebrows knit beneath the brim of his hat. "Don't you know it? You're always so keen on knowing situations and stuff—"

"Yes I do, Saxton, but do you?" she cut him off, impatience lacing her voice like arsenic. "Or do I have to explain it to you?"

"Well I, uh…" He leaned back in the too-small chair and rubbed the back of his neck. It occurred to him that he really didn't know much of it at all. "I've heard a little, here and there. Haven't heard much from ol' Cave in a while, though. I prob'ly haven't seen him in…"

"Several years?"

"Yeah."

The Administrator took a drag, leaned forward, and loosed a puff of smoke from between her thin lips as she spoke. "There's a reason for that, Saxton, and I could tell you why—but all you need to know is this. Aperture Science is on its last legs. The place is going to collapse completely without outside assistance, and right now they're not trying hard to find it. It looks to me like Mr. Johnson has given up."

Hale's face fell a little in sympathy. "That's a damn shame. Never met a man so crazy for science."

"Well he doesn't seem so crazy about it anymore, so if Aperture is going to survive, someone else will have to pull it through. Someone like us, Saxton."

"Whaddaya mean?"

The Administrator steepled her long fingers and leveled her gaze at him like a leopard about to pounce. "I mean a buyout."

Hale's eyebrows shot up. "You mean like—"

"A corporate buyout of Aperture by TF Industries. If it were our subsidiary, we could keep it afloat without bothering poor Cave Johnson any longer. Perhaps we could even merge it with Mann Co.…"

That made his eyebrows nearly pop off his face. "You mean all those fancy rocket launchers and robots would go to me?"

"That's exactly what I mean." She took another drag and pursed her lips to blow smoke into the room. "It would be the best thing for Aperture, and a huge boon for us. _Win-win._ I called you here because I hoped you could pay Johnson a visit and suggest it yourself."

Hale stroked his mustache thoughtfully, having the good sense to look unsure. "Well… I dunno how he'd take that…"

"I'm sure he'll take it well. It's in his best interests. And you are his friend, after all." The word _friend_ rolled off her tongue like something distasteful. The Administrator didn't have friends, and was rather sickened by the whole concept—but matters of this importance called for drastic measures.

"Yeah…" She could see the wheels turning in his mind. Turning those wheels was an arduous process, but slowly, slowly, she saw him reach a conclusion. "_Yeah!_ You're damn right!" And as soon as the idea took root, there was no stopping him. A spark of fervor lit his eye as he slammed his massive hands onto her desk. "It's a win-win! It's bloody good sense, is what it is!" He pointed at her in conviction with a sausage-like finger. "I'm gonna go over there A-S-A-P, and I'm gonna lay it out for him. Right?"

"Right." And as a reward, she threw him a bone. "I knew I could count on you."

It was too far. The man's expression changed immediately to a leering grin, and she knew she'd distracted him. "You sure can, angel," he purred, propping an elbow on her desk and leaning in suggestively. "And if you wanna count on me for more later, I got a new bearskin rug that would look great with you on it…"

"Maybe another time, Saxton." She only sneered a little, speaking volumes of her self-control. "Right now you've got to make an appointment at Aperture."

She watched as his train of thought lurched from one track to another. "—Yeah! Yeah, right, right." He was back on track now, and confident as ever. "And he's gonna sell us the whole place, rockets and all, right?"

The Administrator's eyes narrowed in satisfaction. It was the closest her face could come to a smile. "I don't see that he has a choice."

.

Cave Johnson should have laughed in his face. He should have grinned his million-watt grin, propped his feet up on his desk, folded his arms, and said, "Yeah, right! I'd rather sell both my kidneys! Now are you really here to tell me something, or should I have Caroline pour us a drink?"

He should've said that, but he didn't.

Instead, his mouth twitched in the weakest shadow of that once-dazzling smile, and he said halfheartedly, "I'm not gonna sell Aperture."

"No, you are _definitely_ gonna sell Aperture, and I'll tell you why: because you're a smart man, Johnson! You got a nose for business, know what I mean? You can smell a sour deal—and Aperture Science smells like a dead dingo on the side of the road right now."

Cave looked levelly at the shirtless Australian across from him, leaning forward like an offensive lineman in his too-small chair. Honestly, the man looked like an idiot—but he was the kind if idiot who could punch you through a wall, which was why he did so well in business deals. You didn't cheat a man with biceps the size of your head. He wasn't the smooth talker Cave Johnson was, but he was trying now, for some reason. Usually he preferred to smash a table first and negotiate from there. Cave folded his hands. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your market value! Nobody wants to touch you, mate, and it's because your company's going down the tubes!" Hale talked with his hands when he got excited. They were flying in Cave's face now.

"Now wait a minute—"

"Look at your numbers!" A thick finger jabbed at his nose. "When was the last time your stocks went up, huh?"

"It's not all about numbers, Hale."

"Alright, look at your products! When was the last time you fellas came out with a new science jelly or robot toaster or something?"

The hand swept out in a wide gesture. Cave glared at it. "We have a lotta stuff still in testing—"

"Nobody gives a damn about testing, Johnson! People want results!" Hale's fist came down decisively on Cave's desk, nearly spilling his coffee. "Face it, mate, Aperture Science just don't deliver anymore!"

"We'll deliver when we're good and ready!"

"Well I got news for you: nobody's gonna wait that long. Unless somebody's crazy enough to give you a helluvalot of cash, your ship is sunk."

"Maybe we're not top of the heap anymore, but we're still doing science—"

"_Nobody wants your science!_"

Saxton's outburst left silence in its wake. The tension between the two men was like a steel cable, pulled tight in a tug-of-war of wills—and in a contest of stubbornness, Cave Johnson was undefeatable. He could take on anyone and never budge an inch. He'd stay here for a week if he had to, just to show this Aussie meathead who was boss around here. He would never give up, not Cave Johnson. No, sir.

Another beat of silence passed—and Cave Johnson looked away. Before he spoke, Saxton knew he had won.

"So you want me to _sell_ the place?"

Hale's face broke into a broad grin, and he jumped up from the chair to pace the room. "TF Industries is ready to buy. Helen thinks it's a great idea. You gotta talk to Helen, she'll get it all straightened out. All you gotta do is sign the paperwork."

"Just sign the paperwork, huh?" Cave's voice held a note of defeat.

"Sign the paperwork and you're off scot-free," Hale chuckled. "Leave the science stuff to us, and you walk away a rich man for life! What's better than that?"

Cave could think of a few things better than that. His gaze fell on the half-full coffee cup beside him—he drank black coffee now, and hated it, but no one could get the cream right anymore. He didn't answer.

Hale carried on with no notice of him. His mind was far ahead, imagining all the things Mann Co. could do with Aperture's patented explosives. "C'mon, think about it." Gunpowder that worked underwater. Rockets with built-in rockets. He glanced appraisingly around Cave's office. "What's this place worth, two hundred million? We give you that, take it off your hands, and you get to retire to some tropical beach or something. Get the hell outta Michigan. Meet some women! Get a life!"

"It's worth a hell of a lot more than two hundred million."

"No it ain't, and you know it." Saxton ambled over to the desk again, and fixed Cave with a long look. "Look, Johnson, I'm trying to do you a favor here. We're pals. Right?"

Cave was hardly listening. His eyes wandered bleakly around the room, taking in the familiar space—the bookshelves, the sofa, the faithful liquor cabinet. Even his desk. Even his _chair_, the plush leather chair he was sitting in. He'd kissed her in this chair.

The whole facility felt empty now. She should be here—but she was gone, and he was alone.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"Fine. You got it."

It felt like selling his soul.


	3. Chapter 3

"Attention, Aperture employees. Cave Johnson here. Listen up. I got an announcement to make, and it's kind of a big one, so stop what you're doing and pay attention."

There was a pause.

"I know that in the last few years we haven't been doing so well. Been on kind of a downturn, as it were. Stocks are down, sales are down, production is down—hell, everything's down. That's just the facts. And I know we've all been working hard to keep on doing science, but…" A sigh. "It's time to face the music, people. We aren't gonna get outta this one on our own. Aperture Science needs a little help.

"Now here's what's gonna happen. TF Industries made me an offer to buy this place, and I'm gonna take them up on it. That'll make Aperture a TFi subsidiary. Unless they wanna merge it with Mann Co., which they could, but that's a job for the legal department to work out. Now what all that means for us is that they'll be taking care of us from now on. Financially. And bureaucratically, and whatnot. And they're gonna be appointing a new CEO to take my place.

"Yeah, you heard that right. I'm leaving. Soon as the papers are signed, I'm done. Figure it's about time. You all know I've put my heart and soul into this place from the very beginning, but—well—I don't think Aperture needs me anymore. I figure I've… done enough. So TFi's gonna take care of you from now on, and I'm gonna go off to some beach and retire, or—whatever it is old men do.

"Alright, that's all I gotta say. Don't go asking me about whether you'll keep your jobs or not, 'cause I dunno. Not my department anymore. Just hang in there while we get the paperwork sorted out, and it'll go over just fine. Make me proud, folks. Keep doing science. That's all."

The message fizzled out.

A stunned silence followed. All over the facility, people failed to get back to work. Eyes stared, uncomprehending. Jaws went slack. Bodies sat down heavily as knees gave out in utter shock. Everyone knew things were bad, but this—this was _bad_.

Gazes started to meet each other, exchanging worried looks. What were they going to do?

No one saw it coming, not even with the downturn of the last few years. The boss always said it was temporary, and on some level they'd believed it—he still had that silver tongue, despite everything. Temporary, he said. Things'll get better. They just needed to keep plugging along. Keep doing science. Apparently science wasn't enough to save them now.

But the CEO himself giving up? That was… well, it was unthinkable. No matter how bad things got, Cave Johnson was not the kind of man to abandon ship. This was new—and scary. What could make him do it? Was he running from something? Trying to get what he could from the company and get out? Was TFi's offer just that good? No one wanted to talk about the potential joblessness on the horizon, so everyone talked about him instead. The rumor mill was a familiar comfort. They could almost pretend it wouldn't affect more than the man in charge as they swapped theories—escaping the law in Singapore, meeting a mistress in France—but a subtle edge of fear underlay every conversation, and every ear was pricked for the next words of their fate.

Most of Cave's listeners resented him somewhat, as people often resent their bosses, but that didn't mean they wanted him gone. Very few trusted him implicitly, but very few hated him also. Maybe a handful would be happier without the man.

Only three were actually planning to murder him.

But outside those three no one knew of this, and talk drifted to half-joking speculation about Soviet spies. Anything to avoid the serious questions. Maybe if they just went on as normal, everything would work out alright. Keep on doing science. But—

—in the deepest depths of the salt mine—

—in the farthest cavern the sound could reach—

—concealed in the darkest shadow—

—the thing stood waiting.

It blended seamlessly with the lurking dark, as if its body were made of pure shadow. All but its eyes. Its eyes gleamed a bright and luminous gold, piercing the blackness like rapier-points of light.

Piercing and cruel and deadly.

.

Cave Johnson took no notice. He cloistered himself in his office again, and would see no one, fully occupied with a bottle of bourbon and his own thoughts. Lately that was the only way he could think—sitting hunched on the sofa across from his desk, drink in hand, staring vacantly at the portrait of himself as he let his mind wander.

He was exhausted.

He'd done nothing that day but deliver the announcement, yet his body felt like it had run a marathon. No, worse than that—it wasn't a muscle-tiredness, but a bone-tiredness, one that seeped into the core of him and drained his very life. _Weary_, that was the word. Every breath was an effort. His limbs felt heavy. His heart felt numb.

As he sat in thought, he found himself plagued by questions like, what was he doing? Was his science even important? What was the point of science, anyway? What was the point of _anything?_ But he was a commonsense man, and he brushed those questions aside. Introspection and Cave Johnson were the kind of acquaintances who, when invited to the same party, stood at opposite ends of the room and pretended not to notice each other.

Eventually, Cave had it narrowed down to two real problems: (1) was it wrong for him to sell Aperture Science, and (2) if it was, was it too late to back out of it.

The answers, as he figured them, were: (1) no and (2) yes.

It was his company, wasn't it? He owned it. And if he owned it, he could sell it, simple as that. That was just property rights.

But he couldn't help the nagging sense that there was more to it. He'd founded Aperture, started it from scratch and built it up with his own two hands—didn't that give him a kind of responsibility to the place? He didn't have children, and he probably never would. Aperture Science was all the legacy he had. Was he really going to give it up for a few million dollars and a beach house?

Margaritas and bikinis, he thought, and scoffed. He didn't even like margaritas, and fresh sea air smelled too much like dead fish for his taste. And as for the bikinis—

Well. It had been a long while since a woman caught his eye, and he doubted the skimpiest beachwear would make that change.

"_You could use a vacation_," said a feminine voice in his head. "_You work too hard_."

He knew she was teasing. He also knew she was imaginary, and listening to her only made things worse. "Go 'way," he grumbled, and took a sip of bourbon.

"_Lying out in the sun with a cool breeze blowing…_"

"I hate vacations."

"_I know_." He squeezed his eyes shut against the gentle smile that wasn't there. "_So why are you leaving this place?_"

"What else am I gonna do?"

"_Science_." The tone would brook no argument.

"It isn't that easy, kiddo. Look at the numbers—"

"_Since when does Cave Johnson care about numbers? Since when does Cave Johnson give up, hm?_" There was that note of challenge in her voice that never failed to get him going. "_Aperture Science does not believe in the impossible. We can do it, sir. We can turn this around. Just you watch!_"

The pep talk lit the faintest spark on the old tinder in his belly. He breathed into it, felt it warm him with familiar fire—it was almost enough—almost—

But not quite. On the next breath, cold reality snuffed it out.

What did she know? he thought bitterly, and drained his glass in one swallow. She was dead.

No, there was nothing wrong with selling Aperture Science, and he'd do it if he damn well wanted to.

And he did want to—which was good for him, because the sale was already in motion. Even as he sat there, the papers were being drawn up, with the help of lawyers and accountants and all manner of boring white-collar types he tried to avoid as much as possible. He'd take a last look at the agreement before signing off on it, but that was all the involvement he wanted. Time to wash his hands of the whole business. A deal was a deal.

In fact, as Cave Johnson looked at it now, everything was settled. All he had to do was sign the papers. No use worrying about it any further—best to just accept it and start planning his retirement. Hell, he was walking away with twenty million! He'd never have to work another day in his life! That was what every man wanted, right?

Freedom, that's what it was. Money and time added up to freedom. For the first time in decades, he would be free to do whatever he damn well pleased. No business. No responsibilities. ("_No science_," whispered that voice in his mind.) Maybe he could learn to like that fresh sea air.

Stop aiming so high, Johnson, he told himself as he poured another drink. You'll just hit the ground harder when you fall.

.

He passed the rest of the day in his office. Everyone knew better that to disturb him. At last it was evening—though you couldn't tell, in the windowless facility—and all but the CEO got into their cars and headed home.

The CEO himself took a walk.

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but something told him he had to, an unconscious pull that grew stronger and stronger until he couldn't ignore it anymore. At last he rose slowly from his seat—the more-than-half-bottle of bourbon sloshing in his system was no help—and ventured out the door.

No sign of Greg in the outer office. No noise in the hall. He was alone.

This used to be his favorite time of day, alone in the facility, after the peons left at night and before they arrived in the morning. Now he had the run of the building—as he always did, of course, but it was different without a bunch of plebs underfoot. Now he was the only living soul in the place. Now it really felt like _his_.

He would only share this feeling with one person in the world. She used to love it too…

God, he needed to get out of here.

But it wasn't that easy, leaving a place after it attached itself to you. So Cave Johnson took one last walk around his domain. A circle around the executive level, then down the great glass elevator to the lobby of the scientific wing. It always seemed a different place when its bustling marble floor was empty. His footsteps echoed as he walked, and he could've been the last man on earth.

He had any number of smaller elevators to choose from, each leading down to a different lab, but he ignored them for now in favor of the wide archway on the farthest wall. Through this was a wide staircase that climbed up and up until it met at a fork with its twin, which led down to the business wing. The fork was adorned with yet another portrait of Aperture's founder. He took a long look at it as he passed, but felt only a vague disappointment at the angle of his chin—he should get this picture replaced one of these days.

Except the next time this one was replaced, it would probably be with a portrait of Saxton Hale or something.

He kept walking.

Past the fork, the two staircases merged into one that was even wider, until the great hallway at the top could've been a four-lane street. That hallway led to the grandest double-doors in the whole facility, which opened onto the main lobby. It was build to impress—every surface gleamed in polished marble or rich wood, and the carpets were plush red velvet underfoot. You couldn't cast a glance in any direction without hitting an Aperture logo or five._ Aperture Science Innovators_ shone in bright gold letters above the doors, and beside them a sign proclaimed, "Bringing You the Future of Tomorrow!"

He'd been so proud of that tagline when he thought it up. He'd been proud of the whole place. Poured his heart and soul into it for nearly twenty years.

He didn't feel proud any longer. Now he just felt tired.

Footfalls heavy even on the luxurious carpet, Cave headed back to his office.

Through the doors, down the stairs—ignoring the portrait of himself—across the lobby floor, and into the great glass elevator. He was silent in avoiding thought as he rose to the executive level. But as he approached his office, the hairs started to prickle on the back of his neck. Cave Johnson wasn't a man to scare easily, but his instinct was warning him now.

When he came to the door marked "Cave Johnson, CEO," he found it standing ajar. He hadn't left it that way.

He wasn't alone.

Cave wasn't a fighting man, either, but he entered the office on a hair trigger. Greg's desk lay undisturbed—but the inner office door hung open too. Cave's hands balled into fists as he stepped inside.

Standing in front of his desk, his back to the door, was a little man.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man turned. He was not extremely little, but he stood at a height below Cave's shoulders, and had to look up to meet his gaze. He did look up, and his face split into a wide grin. "Cave Johnson! Just the man I wanted to see!" He spoke with an accent, something British maybe, and that grin was unnerving—like someone had shaped his mouth a little too wide for his face.

"How'd you get in here?" Cave's words came out in a snarl.

"I've just been admiring your office," the man continued in a chummy tone, ignoring Cave's questions. "Lovely place, really impressive. Portrait's a nice touch." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the picture on the wall.

"What the hell—"

"I did want to ask you, being a man of science and all—" A hand slipped into the pocket of his oversized lab coat. "—Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?"

"Wh—"

But before Cave could get out another word, the hand with the rag was in his face. He shoved it away, knocking both of them off-balance, and lunged at his attacked.

Apparently resistance was not part of the plan. The little man's eyes went wide. "Grab him! _Grab him!_" he shouted wildly as Cave's fist closed on his collar—and Cave felt much larger hands grip his arms from behind. Unnatural strength grappled him to the ground, a sharp stink filled his nose, the world swam, and he knew no more.

.

He awoke hanging in midair.

When he realized this, a moment after he came to consciousness, he jerked violently in a panic—but the cords around his body held him tight. They bound his wrists and ankles, and a makeshift harness was lashed around his waist so he could be pulled up and down on the rope attached.

And he was being pulled down. Down, and down, and down, into darkness.

"Looks like the boss-man here's awake!" a voice called from above.

"Alright! Well hurry up and get him down!" another responded from below, and Cave recognized the voice of his captor. He looked down—and down, and down, and felt a bit sick—but far below he could see the ground, and the little man peering up at him by the light of a battery-powered lantern. "Sorry for the discomfort, Mr. Johnson! You'll be out again in a minute!"

"What the hell d'you mean by that?" was what he tried to say, but it came out too muffled to hear. That was probably due to the thick ball of fabric in his mouth. He bit and spat against it, but the gag was tied tight. "Get this thing off me!" But of course it came out as "Mmmm-mmmph!"

Cave Johnson deprived of his silver tongue was not a happy man.

But his kicking and struggling was in vain, resulting in barely a jolt on the rope as the unseen person above lowered him down to the little man below. Down and down and down, and he could see the ground nearing. It looked like a cave floor. In fact, the whole place looked like a cave. Where the hell had these maniacs taken him?

"Quit bouncing him around!" the little man snapped, noticing the jostling.

"I'm not doin' anything!" There was that voice from above again. "He's goin' at it like a worm on a hook!"

"Well make him stop!"

"How'm I supposed to do that?"

"_Mmmmph!_"

"Just hold still, Mr. Johnson, you'll be down in no time!" The man shifted impatiently from foot to foot. "Don't want you getting hurt up there!"

A third voice spoke up from somewhere near the man on the ground. "Damaging the human at this juncture will not negatively impact the mission." Squinting through the darkness, Cave could make out a shape—another man, standing a few feet away, just outside the ring of lantern-light.

The first man glared in his direction. "Yes it bloody will, alright? _Damaging the human_ is not in this part of the plan, so keep quiet and help get him down."

But the new speaker wouldn't keep quiet. "It would be more efficient to kill the human now and then dispose of the body."

"Just help untie him." Cave was nearing the ground now.

"Carrying the live human is a waste of time and effort. Killing him and dropping him down the mine shaft is much more practical."

"Well we're not gonna do that yet, are we Craig?" The first man turned on his companion, apparently named Craig, in annoyance.

"The event is unlikely," Craig responded.

"And d'you know why?"

"The Intelligence Core is stubborn and foolhardy, and will not listen to—"

"_Will you stop that?_"

"—to the better judgment of the Fact Core."

"_No_, Craig, we're not gonna do it because _it's not in the plan_. The plan is to get him down the mine shaft and _then_ kill him. Got that? That's what we're gonna do, 'cause that's the plan. Okay? Can we continue the kidnapping now?"

Craig lapsed into sullen silence.

"Right. When he gets down here, you untie him, and—"

"There is a ninety-seven point eight-one-six percent chance this plan will fail."

"Oh for—"

But Cave had stopped listening. _Mine shaft_. Of course! The old mine below the facility! They hadn't gone far at all! As soon as Greg and the boys realized what happened, they could have a rescue here in no time. But… he had no idea how long he'd been out. It would be all night before they found him missing, at least. And then how would they know to look for him here? And these old tunnels were never mapped, not that Cave knew of…

He could be lost down here for ages. With three men who wanted to kill him.

"Hey!" The voice above cut through the pair's bickering. "Quit yappin' and get him down! I'm not gonna hold this thing forever!"

And finally their captive hung within reach. Cave flinched as thin fingers, Craig's presumably, came from behind and untied him—but made no effort to hold him up. He fell the last two feet and hit the ground with an unceremonious thud.

"He's down!" the first man called up.

"Good! Be there in a sec!" was the response, followed by a scrabbling sound. Apparently the third voice was going to join them.

Cave grunted and rolled halfway over on his side, lifting his face from the rough stone floor. It wasn't a comfortable position, but at least he could finally get a good look at his kidnappers. The first man was closest—he had shed the lab coat, wearing an orange testing jumpsuit instead, but in the lamplight Cave recognized the short, coppery curls of his hair. He was small and round, with a round snub nose to match his chubby face. It wasn't a threatening face, but something about it seemed off, and it made Cave uneasy. He couldn't quite put his finger on why—and that just made it worse.

Maybe the skin of his forehead was pulled on just a little too tight. Maybe that wide grin, stuck in his mind from before, showed a few too many teeth. Whatever it was, just looking at the guy set Cave on edge.

He pulled his eyes away and searched for his other captor somewhere in the shadows behind him. What he saw would've made his jaw drop if it weren't stuffed with the gag already. The man half-lit by the lantern was thin as a wire, and taller than his companion, though that wasn't saying much—probably an inch or two shorter than Cave if he were standing—but the striking thing about him was his skin. It was white. Not pale, _white_, whiter than the belly of a fish. His reedy build and that skin made him look like a walking corpse. And there was something strange about his voice, too—something stiff and unnatural in the precision of his sentences. He almost sounded like a machine.

"The landing is a doozy," said the skeletal man in that artificial tone, looking up at the third figure about to join them. Cave looked up too, in time to see a bulky shape emerge from the shadows, rappelling down the line they'd just released him from, growing slowly larger as it neared—larger and larger and larger—Cave's eyes went wide. He was a giant, seven feet tall if he was an inch, and his massive form was built of solid muscle.

And he was… humming?

"Dundundun-DUN-DUN-dundundun-DUN-DUN-DUN-swingin'-into-danger-nanana-climbin'-down-a-cave-danana-DUN-DUN—DUN!"

He jumped the last few feet and finished with a flourish as he thudded down on the cave floor. Straightening up, he stood head and shoulders above the other two. He was wearing his jumpsuit as pants, with the sleeves tied around his waist and nothing but an undershirt on above, and Cave could see a scar running down the length of the brawny bare arm closest to him. It didn't look like any scar he'd seen before, though. It was a clean line, barely puckered at all, and the scar tissue was the same dead white as Craig's skin.

Something about these men was very, very wrong.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," the newcomer drawled. "Where is he?" The first man pointed to their captive on the floor, and the newcomer grabbed him easily in huge hands—Cave squirmed and struggled, but it did no good. The big man swung him up over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. "Hey Wheat, you gonna put him out again? Or should I just hit him?"

"I'll do it." The little man, whose full name was Wheatley, stepped forward with the rag in his hand. Cave fixed him with the most withering glare he could muster.

It worked. (Never underestimate the power of a glare from Cave Johnson.)

Wheatley fell back a little, his expression almost contrite. "Look mate, I'm sorry about this, but we're just doing a job, okay? We got pulled out of the scrap heap for the express purpose of dumping you in some pit down here, and unless we want to get cut up for spare parts we've gotta make sure you don't get out of here alive. Nothing personal. Just doing our jobs. Now unless you want a word with those Black Mesa fellows—"

"_MMM-MMMMPH!_" Cave's face went purple, and he thrashed against his captor's grip. _Of course_ those bastards were behind this! Those rotten cheating science-stealing—

"Hey, easy now—"

"You sure you should be tellin' him all that?" said the big man doubtfully, holding his prisoner still with no effort at all.

"What's the harm? Not like he's gonna tell anyone else." The rag knotted and unknotted in Wheatley's hands. "I think he should know that we're just a couple of robots doing our job. And we're not gonna kill you yet, but when you do, no hard feelings. Right?"

"_Mmph_."

"C'mon, let's get goin'." The big man, whose name was Rick, has his gaze turned over his shoulder, back up the shaft they'd just climbed down. He looked in a hurry to get away.

"Yeah, alright," said Wheatley. The rag came up again. "Goodnight, Mr. Johnson. Pleasant dreams."

And Cave was in darkness again.

.

His head swam as he came to consciousness the second time. It was still dark, apart from the light of the single lamp up ahead, and giant Rick was still toting him along at the rear. And still doing that sing-songy thing under his breath.

"Dundundun-DUN-DUN-dundundundun-DUN-DUN-dundundun-DUN-DUN-DUN—"

Craig glanced back to shoot him a disapproving scowl. "The Adventure Core's theme music is stupid."

Rick gave him a glare in return. "Nobody asked you, Pinkie."

"The Adventure Core is not designed to produce music, and his attempts at it are pathetic."

"Yeah? Well the Fact Core's facts are dumb, so shove it."

"The Fact Core's facts are very useful and one hundred percent accurate. The Fact Core is also the most attractive and personable of the artificial life forms on this mission—"

"_Shh-shh-shh!_"

Rick froze abruptly with a finger to his lips. His green eyes, almost luminous with reflected lamplight, darted about as if trying to catch something in his peripheral vision.

"Did you hear that?"

"No." Craig looked unimpressed. But Cave had heard it too—a barely-audible scrabbling noise somewhere in the darkness behind them. He tried to tell himself it was only a rat, but the look on Rick's face made his stomach sink.

"Pinkie, somethin's followin' us."

"The Adventure Core is reporting inaccurately."

"I'm tellin' you I _saw_ somethin' back there. Didn't say nothin' 'cause I thought we could lose it, but it's still comin' after us. It had these eyes…"

"Your sensory analysis is faulty because you are nervous."

"Like hell I am!" But Craig was right. It would take a lot to unsettle a man—a _machine_—of Rick's size, but whatever was back there had him on pins and needles. "Listen, you scrap heap—"

And then they both froze.

The hair rose on the back of Cave's neck again as both androids looked behind them. They were climbing a craggy incline now, and outside the circle of lamplight the slope sank into blackness.

And in the blackness, far below, gleamed a flicker of gold.

Craig's reddish-pink eyes were as wide as Rick's green ones when their gazes met. "Something is back there."

"Oi! Are you two coming, or what?"

Up ahead, Wheatley had noticed his companions lagging. They looked at him, then back at each other. Rick said, "I think we got ourselves a problem."

"Come on, we've gotta keep moving!"

Craig said, "We are being followed."

"_That_ is _inconceivable_." Wheatley retorted, his voice sharp with annoyance. "There's nothing down here but rocks and us. Now let's _go_."

The two androids followed reluctantly, but Cave wasn't satisfied. He peered cautiously around Rick's shoulder, out and down into the blackness below, searching for that gleam of gold—

And there it was. Just a glimmer, far below, like a distant star—but it was there. And it was moving. It bobbed and weaved in the darkness, and with its movement came that low scrabbling sound, as of something clambering up the rocks.

It was moving just a little faster than they were.

The party proceeded wordlessly up the slope, the silence only broken by their footsteps, but Rick and Craig were still on edge. Every so often a noise of falling pebbles from behind would make them freeze or dart their eyes backwards. At last Craig spoke up. "How do you know that it is inconceivable?"

"What?" Wheatley glanced back at him.

"How does the Intelligence Core know that being followed is inconceivable?"

The questions were clearly pushing Wheatley towards the edge. "I just know, okay?" he growled. "You just said it—I'm the Intelligence Core. I'm intelligent. _It's what I do_. What _you_ do is supposed to be facts, but apparently you're not doing facts, because it is _absolutely inconceivable_ that anything could be following us!"

"Absolutely inconceivable?"

"Absolutely, totally inconceivable."

"Fact: the Intelligence Core is incorrect."

"_Augh!_"

Wheatley looked ready to hit Craig in the face—or at least kick his shins—but Rick interrupted before a fight could break out. Staring out into the dark, he said, "Hey, genius? I think you better take a look at this."

The thing was catching up.

One point of light had separated into two, a pair of gleaming eyes in the void, and as it closed in the prowling shadow resolved itself into a form. Cave could barely make out a solid shape—a slender form that stood on two legs, and the round dome of a head sporting those eyes. The shape moved at a steady pace, shambling up the slope after them. Getting closer.

Craig repeated, "We are being followed."

"Don't be stupid." Wheatley chuckled nervously and started to walk faster. "It's nothing. Just a trick of the light. Let's keep moving."

"If that's a trick of the light, I'm a can opener."

"_Keep moving_."

The trio picked up their pace as they climbed, but the thing behind was faster. Cave watched it nearing with cold fear in his belly. Maybe he was tied up in the hands of three robots who wanted to kill him, but his instinct said he was better off with them than with that thing back there. He swallowed hard against his fear and hoped Rick was a good runner.

At last they came to the top of the slope—where they discovered it was a dead end. Cave's heart leaped into his throat. The rocky ground where they stood ended in a sheer drop into a chasm that looked black and bottomless. On the far side they could see a high ledge, but no way to get there. And the thing was approaching fast.

"Okay. Okay, what do we do?" Wheatley's words were tinged with panic. As he hemmed and hawed in thought, his bright blue eyes flicked around the cavern, assessing the situation. Craig opened his mouth—but Wheatley cut him off before he could speak. "Got it. Rick, you throw the rope over there and get it hooked onto one of those pointy rock things. Then you carry the rest of us up. You can do that, right?"

"The Adventure Core cannot—"

"You bet I can!" Rick was grinning now. He had a task before him, a dangerous and Herculean task, and there was nothing he liked better. He grabbed the length of cord hanging at his waist, tied it into an expert lasso, and flung it across. All four watched it fly with baited breath.

It missed. The loop fell just short of the closest rock formation and disappeared into the darkness below. "Dammit," Rick hissed, and reeled it back as quick as he could. No one needed to look to know that the thing was gaining. But the lasso was in Rick's hand again, and again he let fly—

And this time it caught and held. Wheatley let out a sigh of relief, and Rick laughed in triumph. "That's more like it! Everybody up!"

Cave was shifted to hang over one shoulder, and Rick slung Wheatley over the other. Craig, looking doubtful, wrapped his arms around the big man's neck. "You are going to get us killed."

Rick only grinned wider. "Watch me, Pinky."

Drawing the rope taut, he gave it one last tug to test it, took a step back, and swung out into space.

"OhgodohgodohgodOHGODOHGOD—" "Aaaaaaaaa_aaaaaaahhhhhh_—" "MMMMMMMMMPH—" "GERONIMOOOOOOOOOO!"

And Rick's boots thudded solidly onto the opposite wall.

He let out a whoop. "Told ya!"

"_Climb_." The voice was Craig's, and it was as taut with strain as the rope holding them up.

Rick looked up—and up, and up, and up—five hundred feet up at least, and who knows how many miles in the infinite drop below. For a normal man it would be impossible—but Rick was no normal man. And so he climbed.

Hand over hand he climbed, higher and higher, muscles of corded steel flexing and pulling beneath artificial skin. Hand over hand, higher and higher, with an unknown threat at his back and certain death at his feet. The others fought not to tremble in fear, but Rick was an Adventure Core, designed for danger, and he was in his element.

Hand over hand, higher and higher. Four hundred feet to go.

Hanging upside down over Rick's shoulder, Cave found the thing's eyes gleaming in the dark behind them. He saw the thing emerge from the blackness to stand on the edge of the chasm, looking up, up, up at the climber and his cargo. It was still barely visible in the receding lamplight, but he could feel its eyes on them. Whatever it was, though, they were safe from it now—it had no way to follow them. It could never get across.

Perhaps it knew that too. As he watched, it backed away from the edge, growing smaller and dimmer in the vanishing light. Soon its eyes were again mere pinpricks in the darkness.

And still Rick climbed. Higher and higher, hand over hand. Three hundred feet—and Rick was doing his theme music again. "Dundundun-dundundun-DUN—dundundun-dundundun-DUN—climbin'-up-a-mountain—dundundun-DUN—"

And then with a flash the thing was back, moving faster than ever, sprinting towards the edge of the cliff at an inhuman speed—Cave's eyes went huge and he let out a yell—and the thing _jumped_—

They all felt the tug on the rope as another body grabbed on. "Whazzat?" Rick grunted.

"_Climb_," Craig hissed again.

Wheatley said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the top.

But they were past two hundred feet—"Hangin-by-our-fingers—dundun-DUN-DUN-DUN"—and almost there. Cave could look up and see the edge nearing. He could look down, too, but he didn't want to. The thing was close behind.

"It is moving at a faster rate than we are." Craig attempted to sound calm, and failed.

"Maybe that's 'cause it ain't carryin' a bunch of freeloaders," Rick paused his song to retort. But he redoubled his efforts, and they rose faster.

A hundred feet to go.

"Come on, _come on_," Wheatley muttered, and Cave felt like doing the same. He couldn't control the morbid curiosity any longer. He glanced down.

A dizzying drop into blackness, pierced by a pair of golden eyes—pupil-less, glowing, and growing closer by the second.

Cave let his gag muffle a moan. _Come on_.

And then Rick's massive arms hefted them over the edge, and they were there. Cave heaved a sigh of relief as the android dropped him on solid ground.

But they weren't safe yet, not with their pursuer close behind. "_Cut it, cut it, cut it_—" Wheatley yelped—a long knife appeared from Rick's boot—and in one swift slice the rope was severed in two. Cave watched as the end whipped like a live thing over the edge and into the abyss.

Then all four of them breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever it was, it was gone. It had to be.

But they had to make sure.

Leaving the human where he lay on the ground, the three androids tiptoed forward and slowly, slowly peered over the edge.

A dark shape clung to the cliff face three hundred feet below.

Wheatley breathed, "_Inconceivable_."

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

"Forget it. It doesn't matter. Let's go." The other two stayed to watch, but Wheatley turned away.

"That thing's some climber," Rick said, impressed.

"Pick him up. We've gotta get moving."

But now that Rick could see their adversary clearly, his apprehension melted away. "Aw, I can stay and take care of it. It's only a little bitty thing."

"You need to carry the human. Come on."

"Somebody's gotta make sure it doesn't follow us, right?"

Wheatley the leader made a snap decision. "Craig, you stay. Get rid of it however you can."

Craig's eyebrows rose in surprise. "The Fact Core is not designed for combat—"

"So don't combat it, just—I dunno, talk it to death. You'll think of something." Wheatley went to the captive and grabbed his bound wrists, but couldn't move him an inch on his own. "C'mon, Rick, we've gotta go."

Rick, though, looked doubtful. "You gonna be okay, Pinkie?"

Craig was quiet for a moment. Reddish-pink eyes met green ones. "Yes. I will be okay."

Rick clapped him on the shoulder—making him stagger a little under the blow—and offered a smile. "Catch up to us when you can, huh?

"Yes."

"And tell me all about it."

The smile looked forced on Craig's thin face, but he returned it anyway. "I will."

And so it was decided. Turning away, Rick swung the hostage up over his shoulders again, and moved to follow Wheatley down the tunnel ahead. "See ya in a bit!" And off they went.

Craig watched his companions disappear in the distance, getting smaller and further until at last they turned a corner and the lamp winked out. He was in darkness, and he was alone.

No—not quite alone.

Pulling a small flashlight from the pocket of his jumpsuit, he approached the edge again and peered down, down, down.

The thing below was climbing.


End file.
